4 times Sherlock cried in front of John
by ibelieveinguardianangels
Summary: A multi-chapter compilation of 4 scenarios wherein Sherlock found himself in tears in front of John. EDIT: And one in which the roles were reversed. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**A compilation of 4 one-shots containing scenarios in which Sherlock finds himself in tears in John's presence. I have the other scenarios already written, but I wanted to find out how this would be received before I posted those. I am aware that this idea has been experimented with rather a lot, but I decided to write my own. They're nothing spectacular, but I thought I'd try my hand at this. **

**I apologise for any mistakes. **

**1\. Sherlock ends up injured and overwhelmed. **

The ex-army medic had witnessed a lot of injuries in his time, lost limbs, broken bones, bullet wounds; yet nothing managed to turn his stomach like the sight of his best friend lying at the bottom of the stairwell he had tumbled down moments earlier. The detective and his assistant had been trailing a suspect linked to the murder that Sherlock had solved just over two hours before; having solved the case Lestrade had set in front of him and tracking the suspect's whereabouts, the pair had chased him through a number of alleyways in the dark side of London and up and down numerous fire escapes before the ominous dark clouds that had followed them finally opened and allowed a flood of water to drop on top of them. Sherlock had refused to give up the chase and, as a result, had slipped on a puddle at the top of the fire escape the suspect had just escaped via and had bounced gracelessly down to the concrete floor below.

John automatically jumped to action, charging down the metal staircase, careful not to follow in Sherlock's footsteps, and towards his friend. Doctor John Watson bit his bottom lip as he regarded the consulting detective's form, his body shaking as the unmistakeable sound of crying met the ex-soldier's ears; the pained sobs emitting from Sherlock Holmes at his feet. John immediately switched on his _'caring doctor' _mode and dropped to his knees beside his friend, his breath hitching in his throat as he caught a glimpse of the tears on the detective's cheeks. John attempted to assess the damage to his friend without touching him before he finally resorted to asking.

The detective's voice was tight, the words sticking in his throat, as he gasped out a response, clearly struggling to catch his breath as he painfully listed a number of injured areas; his left leg, his ribs and his right wrist, along with an obvious bump of the side of his head and a graze over his nose and onto his cheek below his right eye. He lay on his side, in too much pain to move, as John gently checked the injuries. His careful examinations discovered the diagnoses of the injuries. An obviously broken wrist, the joint slightly misshaped, bruised and swollen; the detective had gasped when John had carefully applied pressure to the area. Next were badly bruised ribs, the diagnosis a relief to the doctor who was worried his friend could have punctured a lung, the skin miscoloured and warm to the touch, John was careful not to apply too much pressure to the injury, not wanting to hurt him further. And finally John discovered a fractured tibia.

John found that he couldn't decide the source of the detective's tears, pain or shock, but a nagging feeling in his chest gave him the sense that it was likely both. The detective's thin frame was shaking as he lay beside him and John whipped out his phone from his pocket, taking advantage of the emergency call button on his lock screen whilst trying his hardest to console his friend. He had his hand placed on Sherlock's upper arm, gently running his hand up and down the appendage, trying to soothe the tears that continued to roll down his flatmate's cheeks.

When the emergency services finally arrived and Sherlock was loaded onto a stretcher and into the back of an ambulance, the detective was all cried out and, invisible to everybody else, John was aware of a rather large wet patch on the top of his leg; a wet patch that blended in with the dampness of his trousers from the falling rain. But John knew it was there, right where Sherlock had painfully placed his head, seeking comfort from his friend, and continued to sob with John gently running his fingers through his hair in a soothing manner.

**Sorry its short. **

**I'd love to know what you think and whether I should post the others.**

**Thank you for reading. **

**ibelieveinguardianangels**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the second story one-shot. **

**I apologise for any mistakes.**

**2\. Sherlock and Mycroft's mother dies**

John couldn't believe his ears and the doctor's jaw dropped open. Sherlock's mother had died in the early hours of that morning. It was now 9:30pm and the man had only just decided to alert his little brother to the news. The ex-soldier's eyes danced from the tall, slightly overweight, man with the umbrella that he was, rather thoughtlessly, tapping on the floor underfoot, to his brother in his typical chair, wanting to see how he was taking the news his older sibling had just, very indelicately, dumped on him. His usually expressive face was blank and his multicoloured eyes were fixed on the open door beside the chair John was sitting in, the door that led to the stairs out of the flat. A signal Mycroft Holmes took as his cue to leave.

John's gaze followed the tactless man and his umbrella as he sauntered out of the room before returning his attention to his friend. The world's only consulting detective remained seated in his chair, his position almost exactly the same as it had been moments earlier, barring his right hand which had been raised and placed over his mouth, as though he was inhaling a scent on his knuckles. The hand was trembling, clasped so tightly that the knuckles in question had turned white.

John, having decided it would be the best course of action, remained silent. His eyes softened as he took in the break in the man's demeanour and he witnessed the exact moment his friend's protective barrier came crumbling down; he watched with a heavy heart as salty tears welled up in his friend's eyes, spilling over and running down his friend's face like warm fingertips on his cheeks, gathering at his chin and dripping onto his white shirt. John stood, holding out the box of tissues that was sitting on the desk by the window. It was with Herculean effort that the detective refrained from accepting the proffered tissue knowing that, it he caved and took the tissue, wiping at the tears would only serve as proof that the man was, in fact, crying.

"Sherlock," John's voice held a soft tone as he regarded his flatmate, standing beside the coffee table near the sofa, wanting to give him friend space if he refused to cooperate, "Sherlock;" he tried again, failing to receive a response the first time, "look at me." The detective forced his red, watery eyes to focus on his friend; the second his gaze fell on the soft, understanding expression in his eyes, he broke. His body shot forwards in the chair and he buried his head in his hands.

John instinctively stepped closer to his friend, placing his hand gently on his shoulder. He didn't see the point in trying to assure him that he would be okay. That wasn't what the detective needed now. Instead, he required reassurance that John would be there for him through this no matter what, as it didn't appear as though his brother would be.

Sherlock sobbed, the comfort he was receiving from his friend seemingly encouraging the tears, and John waited patiently for him to finish, not wanting to interrupt him. Not wanting the detective to suppress his emotions. But when the sobs became louder, John left his position beside his friend, closed to door to give him some privacy and then returned to him, crouching in front of him and gently pulling his hands from his face, holding them in his own, playing with his fingers.

"Look at me," John's voice was quiet, his eyes fixed on his friend and when Sherlock hesitantly met his gaze, John set about reassuring him, "its okay to cry, Sherlock," he smiled softly, "you don't have to be ashamed. I'm here; I'm not going to leave you to deal with this on your own."

Sherlock nodded, finally accepting the tissue his friend held out to him again, and wiping at his eyes and nose. John remained crouched in front of him, just watching; carefully comforting him. He waited patiently and by the time the detective had calmed down it was the early hours of the morning.

**Thank you for the reviews. **

**Please, let me know what you think, its a little different from what I initially had planned. **

**ibelieveinguardianangels **


	3. Chapter 3

**I can only apologise about how short this one is. I had intended for it to be a lot longer but the idea seemed to work better concise and I felt that drawing it out would only serve to lose the effect. **

**I apologise for any mistakes. **

**3\. Sherlock is overly tired and his emotions get the best of him.**

"Sherlock," Doctor John Watson rose from his half-lying position in his chair as he caught a glimpse of his flat, unconsciously, rubbing at his red, sore eyes again, he'd been doing so repetitively for around 20 minutes and the doctor had tried his hardest to ignore the action, "I think that you should take yourself to bed." The suggestion was made in a gentle voice, but not a patronising one; John waited patiently to see what his friend's response would be. When he didn't receive one he tried again. "Its been, what? Almost four days since you last slept and clearly its taking its toll on you."

John tried not to allow his gaze to follow the tear that danced down Sherlock's cheek, his left hand raising up to swat at it, a result of his friend's lack of sleep. John was fully aware of what was happening, he'd seen it a lot in the surgery (and hospital) with sleep deprived patients. They became so tired that they found it almost impossible to control their emotions. John, thanks to experience, knew how to deal with the situation without further upsetting his friend.

"How," John casually stood from his seat, arching backwards to try and stretch out the tension that had gathered at the base of it, "about I make a quick cuppa and then you go to bed? Yea?" To his surprise his flatmate nodded at him, accepting the offer and wiping at his eyes again as more tears rolls down his cheeks.

John was perfectly aware of what to, and what not to, do and knew not to pacify him; that the action would only serve to make him worse and, knowing Sherlock, angry. He entered the front room, handing over the freshly brewed cup of steaming tea to his friend and returned to his chair as though nothing was amiss. And, true to his word, the detective finished the beverage, rubbed away some more tears and took himself to bed. John didn't see, or hear, him for the rest of the night.

**I've been reading a number of 'Little Sherlock' and 'Daddy John' stories recently and was intending to write a one shot myself. Before I do, I'd like to know, would anyone read it? I really like the idea of non-sexual age-play.**

**Please, let me know what you think. I only have one more story for this after this one. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry its taken so long for me to post this one. This is the last one-shot in the compilation.**

**Sorry about any mistakes. **

**4\. Sherlock is frustrated because his experiment won't work and its logical**

"Sherlock, stop." Doctor John Watson ordered gently as he reached out, pulling his friend and flatmate's ink-stained fingers away from where they were tugging furiously at the dark curls atop of his head. "Calm down." John soothed, reaching out and steering the detective away from the experiment on the kitchen table. He'd been relaxing with a book in the sitting room when he'd overheard the detective's disgruntled grumbles transition into angry growls and decided that it would be best to intervene.

"What," John began his questioned as he repeated the action of pulling the man's hands away from his head, "on earth is the matter, Sherlock?" He finished, watching as his friend returned to tugging at his curls and John could only be thankful that he wasn't pulling any of his hair out.

"It's logical," Sherlock hissed at his flatmate as though the ex-soldier was the most incompetent man he knew, "I don't understand why it won't work." He grumbled, "It's logical."

"Sherlock," John soothed, "its okay. Calm down." John gently turned his friend around so that they were facing each other, hovering between the kitchen and the sitting room.

"But its logical, John." Sherlock snapped. "It's logical," he repeated, his left hand joining his right as he continued to tug at his curls, "it should work. It should!"

"Sherlock, please," John reached out, removing his hands from his curls once again, "you need to calm down." The consulting detective's hands were trembling as John took them in his own, holding them gently.

"But I don't understand, John." Sherlock all but whimpered, "It's logical," his friend seemed to be stuck on that thought and poor John felt his heart clog his throat as Sherlock's face crumpled, paling in colour, his eyes becoming red as warm tears began falling from his black lashes. The poor man was so confused and Sherlock couldn't help but feel sorry for him. "I did everything I should have, John!" Sherlock exclaimed, "Everything was done just so. Why won't it work?" His eyes latched onto John's and he repeated, "It's logical."

"Listen," John let go of Sherlock's hands so he could rid his face of the warm tears, "you need to sit down and calm down."

"But the experiment-"

"Can wait." John interjected, placing a comforting hand on the base of Sherlock's back as he guided his friend over to the sofa, sitting down beside him. "You need to calm down." John watched as Sherlock rubbed at the falling tears, smearing the liquid across his face rather than wiping it away. His eyes were full of confusion and John could see just how much this was frustrating him. "Sherlock, calm down. It's alright." John repeated the same sentence, his hand rubbing circles on his friend's back between his shoulder blades. "Once you've calmed down, we can try and figure out what went wrong, alright? But first, I really need you to calm down."

John waited patiently, his hand continually tracing the same circle across his friend's back, attempting to soothe him; Sherlock eventually managed to calm himself down. Once the tears had subsided John set about trying to come up with a solution to the experiment issue.

"The measurements were exact?" He questioned, watching as his friend nodded once, becoming more and more frustrated as he went through the list, "why don't I go to the shop and buy some fresh milk; you can try again with that?" John suggested as Sherlock sniffled.

"Of course!" Sherlock gasped suddenly, "The milk must be off!"

And, as if nothing had happened, Sherlock was back to his regular self, waiting for John to return with fresh milk and setting about his experiment.

**Done and dusted. **

**Thank you for your reviews, favourites and follows. **

**Please let me know what you think. **

**ibelieveinguardianangels **


	5. Chapter 5

**And one time it was the other way around; **

**I had originally thought about adding this chapter, having already written it, but I wasn't sure. So I'd like to thank 'sneakysnakes' for suggesting I do so.**

**I enjoyed writing this one-shot - I quite like caring Sherlock. **

**I tried to keep Sherlock as much in character as I could. **

**Sorry about any mistakes. **

**1\. Harry is drinking again and John can't deal with the pressure**

Sherlock knew. Of course he did. He knew John. He knew when he was happy; he knew when he was sad. He also knew when he was angry, having been on the receiving end of that emotion enough times. And he could typically deduce what the cause of the emotion was. He also knew that he had never anticipated his soldier returning from visiting his sister with puffy, red and blood shot eyes.

The moment the ex-army medic entered the apartment, slightly favouring his left leg, his quick, almost shy, glance at Sherlock was all it took for the man to stand from his chair and follow the doctor into the kitchen where he dropped at the table, his finger tips resting on the sides of his face, near his temple. He hadn't even bothered to remove the coat he'd been wearing.

Wordlessly, the consulting detective perched on the chair opposite the man, steepling his fingers over his lips and waiting patiently for John to speak. The doctor, though, remained silent, his eyes closed as he focused solely on regulating his breathing.

"John," As soon as the word had left Sherlock's lips, his voice uncharacteristically soft with a supportive undertone, the doctor cracked. His breathing pattern shattered at the sound of Sherlock smooth voice and his hands slipped over his face, hiding his features from the detective. His new, shuddering breath and the sniffles that escaped him alerted Sherlock to the fact that his friend was, once again, in tears.

Sherlock stood, walking around the wooden table and dropping easily into a crouch beside his friend, his right hand holding onto the back of the chair for support, his left resting on the table.

"John," He repeated, "look at me." When John failed to respond to him, Sherlock tried a different tactic. "John," he paused, "please?"

Sherlock didn't know whether it was the plea, or his tone, but somehow the tactic worked and John slowly slid his hands down so that they were only covering his mouth as oppose to his entire face, his blue eyes flickered down to the detective momentarily before landing on the tabletop in front of him.

"Talk to me," Sherlock's voice held a similar tone one would use when trying to coax a shy child to open up; it wasn't an order, more of an offer. It told John that Sherlock was there to listen to him.

"Sherlock," Was the only word that John managed to choke out before he dissolved into a fresh round of weeping, his body shaking as the pained sobs wracked his frame, his hands returning to cover his face.

"Shh, John," The detective soothed, removing his left hand from the table and placing it gently on John's thigh, "what is it, John?" Sherlock's voice was soft and the tone had a calming effect on the doctor.

"She's," John gasped out the word, "she's d-drinking again, Sherlock!" John almost wailed; Sherlock reached under the table for John's knees and carefully turned him around so that his body was facing him. "She promised she'd stop!" John sobbed, his gaze falling to his friend as he remained crouched in front of him, listening intently, "she promised, Sherlock."

"John," Sherlock began, but paused. He didn't know what he was supposed to say. He had no idea how to make John feel any better, or how to stop the aching in his broken heart. Instead, he rose from his crouched position, leaning forward slightly and embracing his friend, arching his back as he placed a hand on the side of his head, holding it to his chest. "I'm here." He promised finally, remaining stood, hunched over slightly with his arms wrapped around his doctor until the older man had calmed down.

"Thank you, Sherlock," John paused, his eyes falling on the damp spot on Sherlock's chest from the waterfall of tears he had shed, "I'm sorry." He added, gesturing to the dampness.

"Oh, that," Sherlock pointed to his chest and shrugged, "I've endured worse." The detective chuckled, the action apparently contagious as John followed his lead, wiping at what was left of his tears, a smile now on his cheeks.

**Edit: This is the last chapter of this series. Thank you all again for the reviews, views and favourites, please let me know what you think. **

**ibelieveinguardianangels**


End file.
